


The Intricate Tale Of Maggie Greene and Daryl Dixon

by TakeHomeJulie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, don't read if you ship gleggie or rickyl, happy ending!, i think....?, i'll come up with a better title eventually just give me time, just a warning, rating because of half-nakedness i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 13:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4138764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakeHomeJulie/pseuds/TakeHomeJulie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maggie and Daryl get caught up in a snow storm and end up spending a night up in a hayloft half-naked and pressed together.</p>
<p>or maggie is head-over-heels for daryl and uses this as an opportunity to confront him abouth his feelings for rick and her own feelings for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Intricate Tale Of Maggie Greene and Daryl Dixon

Maggie Greene was the kind of girl you just wanted to love. It was something about her in general, or maybe even the idea of her but when she walked in a room, everything else paled in comparison. There was a part of her that demanded to be seen, to be heard and appreciated and something about that stirred up unfamiliar feelings in the man.

She was a woman, with curves and a firm ass and breasts, and occasionally her lack of a bra was visible through her shirt. She had a figure unlike any he’d ever seen but that wasn’t where the attraction started or ended.

The first time Daryl Dixon had felt that stirring in his stomach was on the road, a pregnant Lori with one hand over her swollen belly as Rick helped her back to the car, nodding to Daryl as if to instruct him, which the other man took as a sign to help pack up their camp for the night, keep it moving.

He nodded in reply to the ex-sheriff, his eyes following the oldest Greene sibling as she moved around the make-shift camp, stamping out the dying fire with the boot on her left foot, top teeth biting down into her bottom lip as she did, a small groan escaping her throat when the fire finally burned out, nothing of it remaining but the ash and the fragmenting smell of smoke in the air.

A few weeks before that she had just about been one of the gentlest things he’d ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on and she’d broke through that surface, uncovered a part of herself that the redneck wondered if anyone had known existed. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t liked it, hadn’t been curious as to what she was like when she spoke, actually spoke, because she’d said a total of maybe five words to him on the road.

Daryl made sure the next morning to grumble a polite ‘Hello’ under his breath which made her freeze in her tracks, a small, but gentle, smile beaming back at him. She muttered her own greeting before moving on, immediately taking off after her little sister, who was tucked under her father’s wing like a baby bird.

It was the second time, however, that Maggie spoke to him first, hand reaching for his in the dark, trying to match her breaths to his nervously. He was unsure of what to do at first, wanted to wiggle away from her grasp but he didn’t, just let her squeeze his hand until he was sure it was going to fall off before she released it, the sound of her relieved sigh echoing in the air when they found the light again, leaving that dark and hollowed cellblock for another day. Later that night, she sat beside him as they ate, another bland dinner in a prison, a place Daryl saw himself going before the apocalypse, not after, and let alone with a cop by his side.

“About today—“ she started, not meeting his gaze. He didn’t know whether she was embarrassed about it or just dreading the conversation because he said few words and maybe she was worried he’d just shrug her off. “—I just want to say thanks.”

When organising the run the next day, her hand shot up, her sweet southern voice drawling out an ‘I’ll go’ when Rick asked whether Daryl would be going by himself or with someone. He was just glad for the company and as she settled herself on his motorbike, waving to her father, her sister and Glenn, he was glad she had volunteered.

The house they discovered was old, covered in thick layers of dust, practically untouched. There had been few walkers roaming about, only or two which they’d steadily picked off themselves, Maggie grinning brightly at him when they’d done.

“Teamwork, huh?” she’d said, wiping the blade of her knife on the jean fabric of her pants. He had nodded, crossbow falling in his arms as he walked, not speaking, just waiting for her to follow after him and after he made it to the front of the house, he heard the sound of light footsteps falling into place after his.

He was glad to have her by his side but he wouldn’t tell her that, just mutter things about how he’d take upstairs and she could take down and that if she needed him, he was busy, so only bother him if it was important, which she’d cracked a small smile at, hiding it as she turned, knife gripped in her hand, knuckles turning white.

They’d both made it back to the prison just in time for dinner.

The third time started off when Beth began complaining around the table about the colour of her cell. No one minded, just nodded along, but truth be told, they were all sick of seeing the slack grey of concrete every day and everyone was glad she’d spoken about it first so they didn’t have to. Daryl made a mental note to grab some paint when he left the prison gates and he made an unscheduled run that afternoon. Glenn, Maggie and Rick went along, not asking about why he wanted to go, all just grateful for the chance to stretch their legs.

Standing in the paint section, eyes glaring at the cans in-front of him, paint brushes already taking up residence in his backpack, Maggie materialised beside him. Her soft eyes followed his gaze, her own gentle smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, her words just a whisper when she spoke.

“She likes green.”

He quickly grabbed the nearest green he could, turning to thank the woman but she was already gone, backpack thrown over her shoulder as she wandered out of the store, closely followed by Rick. He wondered after that that one of the only reasons the youngest Greene sister liked green was because it was her last name.

Can open, the ends of the paintbrush licked with paint, Beth was grinning at him, a small toothy smirk that lit up her whole face as he began to paint the wall. It was a light colour, not vibrant and sore to the eyes, but pale.

“My favourite colour’s purple,” the blonde said, laughing a bit. “Maggie and I haven’t had a proper discussion in a while. I guess she just forgot.”

She was rewarded with a small grunt which she didn’t take to heart, only saying her goodbyes when Daryl told her to get lost, muscles flexing as he kneeled over the tin, wiping the pale green on the grey of the walls, bringing colour back into their dull lives again.

Soon afterwards, he cracked open a new tin, clean paintbrush dipped in paint, splattered over Maggie’s wall, a blue being painted over the grey, trying to be inconspicuous but knowing she would just as easily know that it was he who did it, just as he’d done her little sister’s. He’d quickly put it in his pack before he’d left, considering it for a second because even though he thought it was nice, he didn’t want anything in return. He just wanted to do something nice because he could see the way she was eyeing up the colour. She hadn’t bothered to grab it for herself, probably thought the trip was for her sister and her sister alone but she deserved it.

“I wonder who did it,” Maggie said, a small smile on her face as she met Daryl’s eyes across the room, giving an appreciative nod of her head that if he hadn’t have been watching her, waiting for something of the sort, than he wouldn’t have seen it. “It’s a nice colour, I like it.”

Daryl took that as a sign that he’d done the right thing, that she was thankful, and he gave her a nod of his own, clearing his throat when Rick began to talk, something about making another run for formula. “The little tyke should be fine ‘til tomorrow, I’ll take Maggie with me tomorrow, get some.”

“Are you sure? I can go with you-“

“You’ve got kids to look after; we can handle it just fine. Focus on your children, man.”

Two days later, Daryl has Maggie’s arms around his waist, head against his back and poncho draped over her shoulders. She’s saying something to her sister before Carl and Oscar open the gates and they leave the prison, not expecting for a second that this time tomorrow, they’ll be holed up in the top of a barn, limbs frozen in the cold and lips sewed together by frost bite, no clue that everyone will think they won’t be coming back.

-

That afternoon, it’s the sound of a loud clang from the farmhouse barn that drags their attention, Daryl with his torch in his mouth and crossbow held in-front of him and Maggie shivering, trying her best to hold onto her gun. It’s not ideal but they feel safe together and they just want to get home to their family before a storm rolls in and traps them, likely bringing centimetres of snow too deep to trek through.

It hasn’t happened in the three years since the world fell and they hope it won’t ever but they hold out just in-case, stick side-by-side because God forbid they have to split up.

The brunette still has his poncho on and she looks guilty when he bites out a quiet comment about how cold it is and about how he misses the ‘damn summer’ because there was no worry about freezing then.

“Do you want it back? I’m not that cold,” she offers, despite the clatter in her teeth. She hopes he believes her because she feels selfish clinging to it, letting warmth fill her bones instead of letting it fill his own. She feels selfish for not realising it even sooner.

“Nah,” he shakes it off.

She just shrugs in reply, eyes catching the red in his nose. He’s cold but he won’t say it and she’s almost one-hundred percent sure that his stubbornness might kill her one day. She’s stubborn in her own right too but nothing compared to that of Daryl Dixon, who could probably argue with a brick wall if the wall was feeling argumentative.

“I’m stealing it,” she replies, rolling her eyes at him though he can’t see her.

The barn is slowly approaching, their feet creaking on the porch of their house, followed by the howls of an empty house and the subtle sound of Daryl whispering under his breath. Maggie’s hair whips her face as she stands there, poncho waving in the wind. They stand there for a while before they continue, small flakes of snow like dandruff in the eldest Greene sister’s hair.

It isn’t until they get closer that they notice the barn door is padlocked and they can’t turn back, snow already covering the ground heavily. This winter doesn’t stop for no-one and it seems almost eternal by now.

“Can we climb?” she shouts into the wind, using her hand to block the harsh air from her face, eyes already stinging from the cold. Her lips are dry, cracked, and no amount of lip balm could fix them, not just any old one, she thinks. “The barn, I mean. Do you reckon we can climb it?”

Daryl shrugs, eyes slitted shut. “Dunno, worth a try!” he yells back, swinging his crossbow around to rest on his back, the strap digging uncomfortably into his skin through his shirt but it’s nothing compared to the chill he feels from the snow. “I’ll climb up, lend you a hand, got it?” he asks but his voice is drowned out by the wind.

It’s cold, very cold, and Maggie isn’t about to start complaining but she knows that the barn should be warm. From her own personal experience, they usually hold up pretty well in winter, with the days she spent up there with boys in the hayloft. She wasn’t exactly allowed up there- nor was she supposed to take _other_ people up there- but this wasn’t exactly her choice and if she did have one, it wouldn’t really make a difference anyway. 

She and Daryl had no choice, no chance of not contracting hypothermia if they stayed out there any longer, and there was proof that the snow didn’t slow the walkers down. It did nothing, actually. They could function whether or not there was a storm, it didn’t stop them. Maggie hoped it would, that Daryl and herself would be alright in the barn until the snow moved on, found another unfortunate victim.

Daryl offered a hand down, the brunette reaching her own up to grasp it, foot resting on the weatherly boards of the wooden building, chipping red paint with the heel of her boot. It took a few slippery moves of her feet before she could boost herself up, finally clanging harshly to the top floor.

“You okay?” the redneck asked, his southern drawl filling Maggie’s ears. He reached down, hand resting on her bicep, grasping it softly.

“Yeah,” she whispered, leaning up cautiously, the man removing his grasp on her. “Atleast we’re safe now.” It was a simple statement, something solemn about it seemed to hang around though, and she wondered if maybe it was because they weren’t safe, not yet. They still weren’t back with their family, even if they wanted to believe they were. Safe didn’t exist.

“Gonna get pretty damn hungry holed up here,” he sighed.

There was already a thin layer of ice on the poncho and, standing with a crack in her limbs, she tugged it off hesitantly, still wincing at how wet her clothing was underneath. They’d been out in the storm for far too long and she could only begin to imagine how cold he would be.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” she shivered, voice breaking. She had to choke down the shiver that ran through her body, just hope she wouldn’t get one either. She’d been used to the harsh winters, growing up on a farm where animals were lost every now and again to frostbite and sometimes when it got really bad, they got hypothermia. Maggie and Beth had insisted they do something more to keep them warm but after careful consideration, they realised there wasn’t really much that would be done. They couldn’t just stop the winter, it came around once a year for three months and they would just have to do their best to prepare for it.

But then, shaking in the cold, hand combing through her dark hair, trying to rid it of snow, there was something there. She wasn’t entirely sure what but it was something and it was enough that she could cling to, hold onto with both hands.

“We should huddle or something...” she suggested, words cutting into the air. Looking at Daryl- like a stray caught in a storm- was like feeling her own heart stop. Dripping wet and shaking, mouth opened just the smallest bit, teeth clanging against the other. “You look absolutely freezing, Daryl.”

He did, he was, but he wasn’t going to say anything, just suggest they find something to keep them warm; a blanket or even some hay would be better than nothing. Anything would be better than sitting in their own clothing, stuck still to their body like glue. Maggie had the feeling that she’d have to peel her clothing from her body and it probably wouldn’t be a pleasant job; the stickiness of her own shirt and jeans clinging to her, the sound of it peeling away from her skin.

She’d grown up on a farm, she was used to it but that didn’t mean she found it any pleasanter than before.

“I’m fine.”

The brunette snorted, something between an actual snort and a scoff. “You’re not,” she said firmly, giving up and resorting to sitting down on the second level floor of the barn, hissing at the coldness. She hadn’t exactly expected it to be warm, the complete opposite actually, but thinking and feeling were two very different things. “Come on, sit.”

He obeyed, curling up inside himself, knees to his chest, back against the wall. She looped a cautious arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. He wasn’t comfortable with the contact and it was noticeable but she’d been meaning to get him alone and talk for a while so she figured a night in a hayloft, frozen half to death in hypothermic temperatures, she might as well give it a shot.

“How’s Rick?”

“The hell do I know?”

“You guys spend a lot of time together, right? I thought maybe something was going on,” she replied, something surging through her. It could’ve- probably was- jealousy because almost every part of her being loved Daryl, wanting him in her arms until day broke across the sky, to somehow have him fall in love that night. She already loved him, she’d known that for a while but he was in love with Rick, she also knew that whole-heartedly, and she was with Glenn, even if she loved a certain redneck a little more.

The man beside her shrugged, her own grip on his tightening. “You think I’m gay?”

There was something in his voice, maybe he was afraid or mad or something of the sort. “No, I’m just asking. Besides, if you were, it wouldn’t be anyone’s business, or even mine. That’s yours.” She didn’t mind people like that, not at all, if they were into the same gender then who was she to say otherwise? Besides, if Daryl felt the same way about Rick how she felt about him, then she wasn’t going to stand in the way of that.

“Well, I ain’t,” he scoffed.

Unrequited love was a tragic thing; something that meant someone poured all their love into someone else only to be rejected. Maggie felt that when she saw Daryl looking at Rick, when she wanted to cry and she had to get away, far, far away because she was in love with a man called Daryl Dixon and he was in love with a man called Rick Grimes.

She loved Rick, with all her heart, but that same heart wanted his redneck.

Maggie pulled Daryl closer, both shivering in the cold. Stuck in a cowhouse, in the middle of winter, with wet clothes stuck to them, neither of them can do anything but hold the other closer. The brunette puts her lips against the man’s forehead, her warm lips burning a kiss into his skin.

“It’s okay if you are,” she reassures him, smiling only half-heartedly. The man she’s in love with shifts to stare up at her like a child, knees tucked into his chest, eyes wide and round in the almost-dark. It’s becoming night just outside and the snow continues to fall, with no promise of ever stopping. “It’s okay if Rick is too, you know. Or you both are. It’s _okay.”_

He looks at her like he can barely believe what he’s hearing. She might mistake his silence for refusal so she leans back, pulling her arm from around his neck to hug herself around the middle, legs spread out on the second-level floor of the wooden barn. It doesn’t smell all that great, the opposite in fact.

“I’m not gay.”

“That’s okay too,” she says softly, turning to offer him a small smirk. “I’m not gay either.”

Maggie once knew a married couple down the road who had a queer daughter. She was one of the nicest people the oldest Greene sister had ever met but Hershel didn’t like her, on account of something to do with God not accepting those who were gay.

Daryl shivers beside her, the sound of his teeth clattering overtaking that of the wind howling through the cracks of the weathered building. Part of the woman wants to grab him, just hold him until he stops, but another wants to get far away from him, to stare at a wall until she’s convinced herself she isn’t in love with the youngest Dixon. She was in love with Glenn Rhee, that’s what she’d say. Another part of her- only the tiniest part that never won over not matter how much she wished it did- was waiting until he looked at her before she would move forward, claiming his frozen lips with her own.

“You still cold?” she adds, not giving him the chance to comment further.

“Just a little,” the man replies, laughing bitterly. He’s still cold, that’s for sure, and Maggie has the feeling that if they ever got out of there, they would be ridden with frostbite and maybe even hypothermia. If they ever got out of there, that is.

Her family members, her father and sister and everyone else she loves, are back at the prison, staring at grey walls and the areas surrounding the prison, waiting for their hunter and warrior to return and fill their empty stomachs with food. The main point was to get food for Judith, who was silent beyond belief, even when she was hungry.

Worst come to worst, Daryl and Maggie have to hold up in the hayloft without food and water for a few days before they climb their way back out, get on Daryl’s motorbike and return to their family. They’ll have to stop for supplies soon, mention how it took them so long because of the storm and because they couldn’t get anything on the run until it was had finished, and the snow fall was minimal.

“My dad always used to say that if you’re getting hypothermic, you should get naked. You’ll be warmer that way.”

Daryl lets out a small splutter, something that also sounds slightly like a cough.

“Body heat,” she explains, shifting slightly beside the redneck. “I saw it on a movie once. You know? That one about the Christmas lights? I think it has Danny DeVito in it, we used to watch it every December, before Beth when carolling.”

The man turns red beside, her, possibly because she just suggested they get naked and hug or because the thought of seeing the brunette in nothing has embarrassed him. If anyone should be embarrassed, it should be Maggie.

“Body heat,” Daryl repeats, turning to look up at her.

“I’m not saying we get naked, just get out of these clothes,” she shrugs. “They’re freezing and maybe skin-on-skin contact is just what we need right now.”

She’s not stupid enough to think that maybe he’ll go along with it that easily. If it was Rick, who was likely more than willing to do just about what he had to to survive, the sheriff would probably already be stripped to his socks.

Before the hunter can protest any further, Maggie tugs at the bottom of her shirt, bringing it over her head. The cool air that hits her body makes her suck in a cool breath, body already shivering worse that it was before when it was covered in snow and rain.

She turns just in time to catch Daryl following suit, awkwardly tossing his own shirt to the floor, mouth opened and teeth pressed together to keep them from chattering.

Maggie manages to choke out a whispered ‘Come here’ before she’s got Daryl pressed against her, warm bodies providing exactly what they both needed. It’s the closeness that steals the brunette’s breath away, not the fact that she’s holding a shirtless man against her half-naked top half.

_Note to self: Daryl Dixon is hiding a lot under his clothing. Mostly muscle._

“T-Thanks for painting my cell,” she whispers, pulling away slightly from him to undo the top button of her pants, legs underneath her on the floor. “And Beth’s too.”

“Wasn’t me.”

She shakes her head, smiling down widely at the floor beneath her, beginning to tug her jeans down her hip as she stands, letting them fall to the floor. The wind that hits her legs is nothing compared to how exposed she feels when she notices Daryl watching her.

“I know it was,” she mutters, almost wincing when her words turn white in the winter air. “How did you know?” she adds, lifting her head to catch his gaze. “That blue was my favourite colour. I don’t think I told anyone, not even Beth. I haven’t spoken to her properly in a while. And before the world ended, I liked grey. I don’t like it anymore, not living in the prison.”

“I saw you lookin’ at the tin of paint,” the man says, like it’s so simple; like he simply noticed her watching it and grabbed it. But it isn’t.

Maggie shakes her head again, letting out a bitter laugh. “I wasn’t looking at the tin, I was looking at you.”

They both go still, the woman shaking where she stands and Daryl on the floor, a raised eyebrow and slitted eyes, glaring up at her in curiosity. Maggie has some explaining to do, she knows that, but for now, she needs to think about getting warm, focusing on the family waiting back in a prison for her return- as well as his.

“The can was in-front of you,” she explains, lowering herself down onto the cold floor of the hayloft, hisses as it touches her bare skin. “I was trying to be inconspicuous about it. Thanks for noticing, Daryl.”

She feels like she’s confessing, which is ridiculous. She tells herself she has no explaining to do, that she was looking at him. Eye-contact _isn’t_ a crime, not that she knows of anyway. Besides, what does it matter that she was looking his way? They’re friends, strictly platonic, atleast, she tries telling herself that. It doesn’t matter that on the road when he said hello to her all those months ago, that she found herself almost choking on her words. Or even when they were in the secluded part of cellblock D when she reached for his hand autonomously that he didn’t shake her off, or even say anything about it, just said in a round-about way that they were cool; that it was no big deal.

“What are you tryin’ to say?”

The eldest Greene sister finds herself choking on her words once again, trying to think of a way she can tell him that she loves him without scaring him away. “I’m never going to leave you, you know that?”

_Note to self: I’m never going to leave you sometimes means I love you._

“Uh-huh,” is all that comes in reply, nothing more, just a frown that appears on his face and another small cough. Slowly, he moves closer, unsure hands touching her shoulder, her own hands moving to grab him, hold him against her.

There’s a blanket in the corner by the hay bundles, which Maggie notices when she leans forward to bury her face in his neck, instead pulling away from his grasp to grab the blanket. It’s quite large, surprisingly, and a very dark green, so she wraps it around herself, showing it to Daryl with a victorious grin, his own smile lifting at the left corner of his mouth.

They lean against the wall of the second level of the barn, shivering and cold and half-naked but now with a blanket around them and body sewed together by the part where their hip collides.

_Note to self: Sometimes you don’t need to say ‘I love you’ to say it._

“You and Rick,” she rasps into the cold air. “H-He loves you, I know you love him too. When I see how you look at him, it’s like how my father used to look at Beth’s mom. You love him, don’t you?”

Daryl has his eyes shut and his head against the wood behind him but she can see how his nose twitches when she speaks. “Dunno, ain’t really thought about it.”

_Note to self_ : _He’s totally thought about it, he just doesn’t want to tell you._

“I’ve thought about it,” Maggie admits, teeth biting down on the bottom of her lip. “About how he loves you, and how you love him. When I see how you look at each other—You’ve got something, you and Rick. I’m not one-hundred percent sure what it is, but it’s something. You should speak to him when we get back.”

“Why do you care?” he snorts, eyes still sealed shut.

She’s silent for a moment, considering her words until finally she speaks, not missing the way he goes still beside her like a deer caught in the headlights, which is what she is. “Because I love you,” the brunette whispers, “and I want you to be happy, Daryl.”

His eyes flicker open, head turning just in time to catch her gaze, the way his eyes linger on her mouth for too long before he jerks back like he’s been burnt.

“I love Rick too, and if being with you makes him happy, and vice-versa, I’m fine with that. My dad will be too. Everyone will be. Beth made a bet with me,” she laughs. “That you two will get together just in time for Christmas, which according to her is two weeks away.”

“That’s why you’re doin’ this?” he asks. At first, Maggie think he’s angry, which is a possibility, but she’s sure she can sense disappointment, even if it’s just a little bit.

“No.”

_Note to self: Daryl Dixon is very insecure._

They stay there for a while, the brunette’s knees pulled up to her chest, blanket warm against her bare skin, Daryl with his thumb nail in his mouth, eyes slitted in the dark. It’s odd how quiet they’ve become.

“I said all that because you deserve to be happy,” she finally sighs. She’s quiet, she doesn’t mean to be but her words sound more like she’s given up than she’s admitting that to him.

“You really believe that?”

Maggie shrugs beside him and she wishes she could see his face, how he’s reacting to hearing all of it but it’s too dark outside for her to tell, at the moment atleast. “The man I fell in love with, he’d believe me. Why don’t you?”

Daryl’s never been great at that; the whole _love_ thing. He’s sure he loves Rick’s children, almost one-hundred percent sure he loves Carol as a friend but never has he ever truly loved someone. Not the kind of love that suffocates you, not like that. He’s never been in love, though he’s partly glad for that. Love just means more people to lose and he’s not sure he can afford to lose anyone else, not when they’re finally as close to safe as they’ll ever be.

“Tomorrow morning,” the eldest Greene sister says, “we get on your motorbike and get out of here, well away. Find some food, water, supplies; make it back to the prison. Then you can talk to Rick, tell him you got some time to think through some things and maybe you love him too. The way you look at him, I-”

“Is that how you look at Glenn?”

“It’s how I look at you, Daryl,” she whispers, moving her hand under the blanket to grasp his, fingers threading together. “Because, I like Glenn, but I love you. I wish I didn’t but it’s not that simple.”

“Stop it.”

“I would if I could,” she says, defeated. “But I can’t. If I could stop feeling for you how I do, I would, trust me. I’m just not in a position right now where I can deny myself the simple pleasure of falling in love with you.”

_Note to self: Dammit, Maggie Greene, keep your damn mouth shut!_

“Okay.”

Maggie presses another warm kiss against Daryl’s forehead before they fall asleep, fingers still threaded together. One’s mind consumed with the thought of the other by their side and the second mind focused on the man waiting for them back at the prison.

“I love you,” she whispers, but only when he’s asleep, lost to the world once again before he’ll open them against come morning. That’s still a few hours away but she’s willing to wait for him to wake. One of them has to stay up for the night, just in-case something bad happens, which they both hope doesn’t.

They’ll return to the prison in two days, Maggie holding her little sister and her father before Glenn because she feels guilty for falling in love with someone else. Daryl lays a soft hand on Rick’s shoulder, as the ex-sheriff often does to him, before they walk off somewhere, talking in hushed whispers about something the redneck will later tell Maggie was thanks to her, the woman who loved him while he didn’t love her.

A beer in hand and an unlikely pair of sunglasses perched on the brunette’s head, she and Daryl will sit against the warm rock of the prison wall, watching Rick tend to his garden and Glenn help, reminiscing about their time in that barn, where they felt like the last two people on Earth; the time when they might have well have been.

“We’re lucky,” Maggie will say, smiling down at her boyfriend and the man that Daryl has grown to call his, a slender finger pointing down at them. “To have those two.”

“Sure are,” Daryl will agree, not smiling, just thinking on her words. He’d be lucky to call her his, he just doesn’t because Rick Grimes seems to have caught his eye all those years ago in Atlanta and while his eyes have left him since, his heart has still remained there. He loves Maggie, just not in the same way, not in the way she loves him. “Glenn’s a good guy.”

The eldest Greene will stare down at her boyfriend, a goofy grin on her face before she nods. “Yeah, he is.”

She’s grown to love Glenn, not as much as she loves Daryl, but almost to that point, and the kiss she stole from the redneck she loves more still lingers, the way his burning hot lips seared broken promises into her own. Daryl won’t look at her, not like he used to. Because he loves Maggie Greene, even though he tells himself he doesn’t, he truly does. He still thinks about the kiss, when they emerged from the barn, freezing cold and shivering, half-naked and terrified, turning to catch the other’s gaze, lips crashing together before either could back away or deny the act. He’d kissed her back and he still thinks about that, when Rick smiles at him or whispers ‘I love you’ into the midnight air, even when Glenn stares at Maggie, the redneck brushes a self-conscious hand across his lips. He feels see-through, like they can tell his mouth was pressed against the brunette’s.

Two days later, the woman down by the fence, knife in hand as she stares at the walkers lining the fence, Daryl can’t help but join her, though he’s never been one for that kind of work. Picking off the walkers at the gate, it seems cowardly.

“I love you,” he’ll tell her, hands in his pockets, looking just briefly up at her from the ground where his eyes were focused.

She stares up at him like she’s angry but then it fades and she just shakes her head. “You had your choice, Daryl,” she mutters. “I told you and you—I love you too but we can’t... I love Glenn, you love Rick. You blew our chance, okay? Nothing can happen now.”

Truth be told, Maggie Greene was the kind of girl you couldn’t help but want to love. Daryl Dixon happened to be the same way. Kind hearts, one privileged and the other from a broken household, but still kind, no matter how much they lost, they remained as gentle as one should’ve been.

Her rejection doesn’t stop Daryl from displaying random gestures of his newfound love for her, taking her on runs or bringing her random trinkets back, and she would stare at him like she was falling in love all over again. Years from then, if anyone asked either of them when they had first fallen in love, they’d lie and say Rick or Glenn, but the eldest Greene daughter’s first love had the name Daryl and the redneck’s first love had the name Margaret. They share a stolen glance or an inside joke about that winter night in the barn, a night no one will ever truly remember, except them. All their family knows is the storm and not the declarations of love or even the kiss after it was over, all they know is the heartache of missing them.

Maybe that’s why that night in the barn happened, or all those times before, but they loved each other, though they still felt like they were falling. Maggie was in love with a man named Daryl and Daryl was falling in love with a woman named Maggie.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed this. Thanks for reading!


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